


Subliminal Spaces

by TooSel



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Crack, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Halloween, Happy Ending, Haunted Houses, Hospitals, Humor, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Recovery, Supernatural Elements, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooSel/pseuds/TooSel
Summary: The thing is, Harvey has never believed in the supernatural. He never believed in ghosts or any of that stuff. But he never believed he could actually be insane either, and when it comes down to it he really doesn't know which notion he would rather reconsider.The man watches him, looking mildly intrigued by the existential crisis he is currently going through.Harvey really needs a drink.





	Subliminal Spaces

Harvey always considered himself a sane man. That is, he never had any reason to doubt it, at least not until he moved into his new flat and things started... happening.

At first, everything looks great. Harvey unpacks his boxes in record time, eager to fill the empty space and make it his own. He found this apartment on the internet, an ad from last year that hadn't been taken down yet. Having liked the pictures, he'd given it a shot and called the number, and after hearing that it was still available it had only been a matter of driving there and, after a look around, signing the papers.

It's not exactly fancy, rather plain and manageable, but there's enough space for him and his stuff, and it's not supposed to be permanent anyway. He's saving up for a condo, and in the meantime this place will do just fine. It's close to work, central but still secluded enough for some peace and quiet away from loud tourists and traffic noises.

He ends the day by putting his brand new coffee machine on the counter, ready to be used first thing in the morning, and then goes to bed.

He always sleeps lightly the first night in a new home, and so the fact that he wakes up several times doesn't particularly bother him.

He's tired when he gets up, but not unbearably so. Nothing a cup of strong, hot coffee won't fix.

He takes a shower, then gets the machine started before heading into his bedroom to get dressed. He returns while he straightens his tie, his mind already on the meeting he has in an hour.

He stops short when he turns to grab his coffee, only to find that it's not there.

“What the...”

Harvey looks around, though he could have sworn that he put it on the counter. The mug isn't anywhere in sight.

When he opens the cupboard he finds it inside, empty and untouched.

Weird.

He eventually arrives at the conclusion that he must have dreamed the entire process. Since there is no time to actually make himself any coffee now, he leaves with the plan to get some on the way and a mental note to himself to catch more sleep next time.

* * *

Harvey startles awake, bolting upright in his bed. His heart is racing in his chest as he looks around, trying to figure out where he is and what's happening.

It's the middle of the night, a quick glance at the clock tells him. Then he notices the windows, both wide open.

Harvey stares at them. It takes him a second to realize that the wind must have made them burst open and the resulting bang was what woke him.

So much for some peace and quiet.

He wills his heartbeat to calm down as he pushes the duvet back and gets up. When he reaches the windows and looks outside, he frowns. Something isn't right.

It's a completely windless night. The air doesn't move a fracture. He waits, but even after a minute passes there is no wind at all, only silence.

Harvey shakes his head and closes the windows, hoping that these sudden changes in the weather won't become a regular thing.

He returns to bed and pulls the duvet back, only realizing after a moment that the cover was made. He halts, narrowing his eyes as he thinks back, but he's almost positive that he didn't make it.

Harvey blinks at the sight, then gets back into bed and closes his eyes.

He's probably still dreaming.

* * *

His coffee disappears on the second day too. By the third morning Harvey really can't blame it on sleep deprivation anymore. He stares at the clean mug inside the cupboard, out of his depth, but since he can't find a plausible explanation for the weird occurrence, he chooses to ignore it.

* * *

The coffee mystery seems to take its toll on Harvey. By the end of the week he misplaces his keys, which never happened to him before.

“I could have sworn they were in here,” he mutters to himself, feeling inside his pockets for the umpteenth time before giving up with a sigh.

Thankfully he has a second set of keys he keeps at the office. The first thing he does when he gets in is instructing Donna to make a third.

The first set never shows up again. If Harvey sometimes hears a rustling akin to the sound of keys, he must be imagining it.

* * *

“Oh, come on. You have got to be kidding me.”

Kidding or not, the shower still isn't working. Harvey stands in the cabinet, glaring daggers at the shower head as he jerks the tap, but to no avail. All he gets are mere droplets, dripping from the head in a slow, almost hypnotic rhythm, a steady _drop-drop-drop_ that transfixes him as he waits for the water to come back on.

They kind of look like tears, Harvey notes, then immediately berates himself for the thought. That kind of poetry isn't going to get him clean any time soon.

Looks like he's going to have to skip the shower this morning. And call a plumber.

* * *

The shower works just fine when he comes home in the evening. Harvey calls the plumber again to cancel, unable to decide if he's relieved or annoyed.

That soon turns out to be the least of his problems, however.

So far Harvey has been able to ignore these occurrences, to write them off as a strange irregularity and move on with his life. So far they haven't given him a reason to doubt his own sanity.

Until now.

It's almost midnight when Harvey gets up to stretch his legs, wincing at his cracking joints. He's been sitting over this case for hours, trying to come up with a strategy. He's pretty much at a standstill, and so he takes a break to get some air.

He sits down with a sigh when he returns before leaning over the files spread on the table, skimming his list of ideas again.

At the bottom of the page is a note that reads, _check for inconsistencies in the financial distribution of the past five years_.

It's a good approach. There is just one problem with it. He didn't write it.

He knows this, firstly because he is not that forgetful, and secondly because that's not his handwriting.

The words are there, clear and plain as day, giving him valuable information, but he _did not write them_ , and he has no idea who did or where they could have come from.

Harvey stares at them for the longest time, trying to come up with an explanation that doesn't suggest he has a split personality.

He doesn't want to admit how much it scares him that he doesn't succeed.

* * *

The windows burst open again. Harvey startles upright again.

It's a windless night. Again.

Harvey does not look at the bed when he returns.

* * *

The thing is, all those occurrences are fairly easy to ignore by themselves – even the handwriting incident Harvey refuses to acknowledge actually happened –, but it gets a hell of a lot harder once they start piling up.

He opens his laptop before wandering off to grab something to eat, only to return to his browser already open and a search history he definitely did not write.

_Haunted apartment_

_friendly ghost_

_hello_

Harvey closes the laptop and leaves the room.

In the evenings he checks if he closed the windows twice and is still awoken by the sudden bangs in the dead of night.

He wakes up in the mornings feeling more tired than a few sleepless nights should warrant. He tries to make coffee against all odds, only heaving a resigned sigh when the mug disappears.

“Right. No coffee for me this morning. Again.”

The box of chocolate a client gave him ends up scattered across the floor. His lights switch on and off at irregular intervals, usually when Harvey needs them most. His clothes disappear. His _underwear_ disappears.

It continues like this until Harvey is too paranoid to even look around anymore, not sure what he's going to find next. It goes so far that he bursts out at work, “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

Donna snorts, thankfully not noticing the urgency in his voice. “God, no. Do I look like one of those lunatics to you? I mean, sure, sometimes things happen we can't explain, but that doesn't make me believe in ghosts or anything.”

Harvey forces himself to smile. “Yeah, right? That would be stupid.”

He thinks about asking _If I were going insane you would tell me, right?_ but decides against it.

There are some questions he just isn't prepared to hear the answer to.

* * *

Harvey is tired to his bones. Apart from the stress he has at home, work has been brutal the last couple of days. There's a big case that just keeps on growing. Harvey hasn't seen anything but small printed files for hours when he gets home. It's been a long day and he just wants to fall into bed and sleep, preferably before his apartment decides to play tricks on him again.

He opts to just scrub his face and brush his teeth, executing the motions as if in trance. He stares at his hands making the movements, just to make sure that he's doing them right, certainly not because he's wary of looking in the mirror.

He cleans his teeth, then runs the water. As he holds his face underneath the stream he suddenly stills, listening closely. The water sounds... off. Is it the water? He brings his ear closer to the basin, frowning. It kind of sounds like there are noises coming from the drain. Only that it's not noises.

It's a voice.

Harvey darts back when he can make out low words, quiet but clearly saying, _This is a bad idea._

He stares at the mirror, his heart pounding in his chest as his reflection looks back, a haunted expression on its face Harvey refuses to acknowledge is his own.

“I'm working too much,” Harvey mutters, shaking his head. “I'm working too fucking much.”

He repeats the words to himself as he finishes up, not daring to fall silent in case he hears the voice again.

By the time he switches off the light, he almost believes them.

* * *

His coffee keeps disappearing. At one point Harvey stops trying to make any.

* * *

The day Harvey steps out of the shower to find _UR HOT_ written in the fog on his mirror, he officially starts entertaining the idea that he might be losing his mind.

He stares at the letters until his vision blurs, then turns on the spot and leaves the room.

He checks his lock for good measure, but everything is intact, and he can't really imagine anyone breaking into his apartment to leave a flirty message on the mirror and then leave again.

He almost asks Donna to put together a list of psychiatrists nearby. Almost.

* * *

Harvey puts his coffee machine into the cupboard.

He tries not to acknowledge the winking smiley he finds in the dust that gathered on top of it the next time he opens the door.

* * *

The day things finally come to a head feels like a long time coming, but still catches him off guard.

Work has been exhausting to the core again, with two new clients who both demanded Harvey's full attention at once, and after the weeks he's had, Harvey is about ready for a drink.

He's more than ready for some peace and quiet when he gets home late, hoping against all odds that he might actually get some, and he just wants to drop on the sofa and relax, but he can't, because someone's already there.

_Someone's already there._

Harvey isn't proud of it, but his first reaction is to let out something between a yell and a shriek.

“What the _fuck?_ ” he demands, affronted that someone dared to enter his house without his permission, before the adrenaline really kicks in and he realizes that this guy could very well be dangerous.

He is about to grab something to defend himself with, anything, a book or a dumbbell or a goddamn lamp, when he realizes that the man isn't actually sitting on the sofa. He's floating. Above it. Above the sofa.

He has turned to Harvey at the sounds, giving him a curious look, and now Harvey can see that there's something else wrong with the image presented to him, something he couldn't pinpoint in the dim light before but can now see clearly.

The man is transparent. Not entirely, his features are visible just fine – soft, Harvey notes, framed by dark blond hair – but they almost seem to shine, like he's a strong projection, good enough to fool you at first but not on a closer look.

Well, shit.

The thing is, Harvey has never believed in the supernatural. He never believed in ghosts or any of that stuff. But he never believed he could actually be insane either, and when it comes down to it he really doesn't know which notion he would rather reconsider.

The man watches him, looking mildly intrigued by the existential crisis he is currently going through.

Harvey really needs a drink.

“Okay,” he says to himself, not because anything is actually okay, but because he needs to pretend that he can handle this, just for a moment. “Alright. Let's see.”

He takes a deep breath. He blinks. He rubs his eyes. He stares, and stares, but no matter what he does, the man doesn't disappear. He seems perfectly content just floating there – _floating_ , for god's sake – and waiting for Harvey to sort out his crisis.

When any remaining hopes for the man to dissolve by himself die a painful death, Harvey realizes that he must now acknowledge him. It. Whatever.

Okay. Damage control. Insane people don't know they are insane, right? At least that's what he's heard. That's a good starting point. Maybe, if he acknowledges the fact that this isn't real, the man is just going to disappear.

Harvey clears his throat.

“You're a hallucination,” he says.

“Nope,” the hallucination replies. “I'm Mike.”

Well. That didn't quite go as expected. The hallucination is still there, and now it has a _name_.

“You're Mike,” he repeats. “Right. I'm insane.”

“No,” Mike says. “You're Harvey. Nice to meet you, by the way. I meant to tell you when you moved in, but, well.”

Harvey exhales slowly. “You're not a hallucination.”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

Mike chuckles. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

“So what are you? The ghost of Christmas past or something?”

“Not quite. It was more like Halloween, and not last year, but... well, you can call me a ghost if it makes you feel better.”

“ _Are_ you a ghost?”

Not a question Harvey thought he would ever ask in his life.

“No. I'm a spirit.”

“What's the difference?”

Mike shrugs. “I don't know. I've never met a ghost.”

“That's not helpful.”

“Hey, you've started talking to me like a normal person. All things considered, that's definitely progress.”

Harvey narrows his eyes. “So you're responsible for all the shit that's been happening to me lately.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You're sorry, right. You made me question my own sanity, but you're sorry, so it's all fine.”

Mike heaves a sigh. “It was a necessary sacrifice.”

Harvey clenches his jaw, suddenly angry. “Why did you make my coffee disappear?” he demands to know.

Mike raises his eyebrows. “That's the first thing you're going to ask?”

Harvey crosses his arms. Mike sighs again. “Fine. I was jealous, okay? You barged in here with that fancy coffee machine, right under my nose, which still works, by the way, so I could smell it but not actually drink it, and it annoyed me.”

“What, like 'I can't have any so you're not allowed to have any either'? Now that is just childish. What are you, twelve?”

Mike just rolls his eyes.

“How did you do that, anyway? If you're a ghost or- whatever, aren't you supposed to not be able to touch things?”

“I can't, not really. I can do some stuff, but that's mostly- don't laugh, okay? It's mostly telepathic. If I want something specific, sometimes I can make it happen. But there are limits. I usually don't know unless I've tried. Gives me something to do, at least.”

“This is insane,” Harvey mutters darkly. “The water,” he then remembers. “The voice I heard through the stream. That was yours, wasn't it?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because water-” Mike makes a meaningful pause, looking at him intently- “is life.”

Harvey nods slowly. He's heard that before, he can get behind that.

Mike snorts. “Oh my god, your face! I can't believe you bought that. Water is life, ooh, how very philosophical.”

Harvey rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it. Funny. Real funny.”

Mike's grin is entirely too wide. “It kind of is.”

“So why _did_ you go through the water first? I can obviously see you, and talk to you like a normal- person, so why did you go through all that trouble? Why send me a message through the fucking water?”

He realizes that he's getting pretty worked up over the goddamn water, but he can't really bring himself to care. He's talking to a ghost, for fuck's sake.

“Because I needed to open a channel to communicate with you. You can't just go all the way without some preparations. Humans need to be sensitive to other dimensions, tuned to them, before they can perceive them. You start by forming doubts in their minds, questions they can't find a rational answer to. Once their belief starts to shake, their horizon broadens and they become more open to other planes of existence.”

Harvey considers that, then narrows his eyes. “Your idea of broadening my horizon was writing that I'm hot on my mirror?”

Mike lifts his shoulders. “Well, it's true. I was running out of ideas.”

Harvey chooses not to grace that with a reply. He is clearly dealing with a a twelve-year-old after all. “How do you know all that?” he asks instead. “Have you tortured others before me, is that why this apartment was empty for so long?”

“I just know.” Mike shrugs. “There wasn't anyone else before you. Most people feel a subtle repulsion to this place that makes them stay away. Don't know why that didn't work with you. I'm glad, though. I finally got company. Which is why I was so excited when you moved in.”

“So excited that you made my coffee disappear every goddamn morning,” Harvey mutters darkly. Mike throws his head back with a groan.

“God, you're really hung up on that coffee, aren't you? Fine, you can have it. I won't touch it again.”

Harvey huffs in disbelief, then runs a hand through his hair. “So, suppose I believe you actually exist – I'm still not entirely convinced, but I think it's preferable to the alternative that I've actually lost my mind – you're basically a ghost that's haunting my apartment out of boredom.”

“Well, more or less, but that's the gist of it, yeah.”

Harvey groans. That's just his damn luck. Why couldn't he have moved into a normal flat with normal problems instead of a ghost that is decidedly not behaving in any way he would consider normal?

“Why are you here? In this apartment, I mean?”

“I can't go anywhere else,” Mike says, and Harvey can tell he's trying to sound nonchalant, but there's a sadness behind the words that makes him listen up.

Oh god. He probably died here and now his soul is cursed to wander these halls forever. It's not something Harvey imagines to be very pleasant, as someone for whom the world can't be big enough, to be confined to one place for eternity. Especially a place like this. The apartment isn't that big, and it was empty for years before Harvey moved in.

The thought annoys him because Mike terrorized him and he's really not about caring, but he kind of feels bad for the ghost that's been haunting him.

Part of Harvey wants to ask what happened to him, but he decides against it. Even he knows that's probably rude, and there are more pressing matters at hand.

“Wait.” He narrows his eyes. “Does that mean that you've been here all the time? Like. At all times.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Well, it's not like there was much else to do.” Mike gives a shrug, not looking all that apologetic. “Sorry.”

Harvey shuts his eyes with a groan. “Oh god. This is the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

He's not someone who's ashamed of the things he enjoys, and he doesn't consider any of his habits too out of the ordinary anyway, but there are some things that are just supposed to be private.

“Hey, no need to be ashamed. Nothing I haven't seen before.”

“You do realize that doesn't make it any better?”

“I'm just saying, man, I'm not judging you. I've done weirder things.”

“Yeah, like haunt other people's apartments,” Harvey mutters.

Mike gives him a sheepish grin, and then they lapse into silence, eyeing each other.

“Look,” Mike eventually says, kneading his hands, “for what it's worth, I really am sorry. I didn't mean to spy on you, I just kind of couldn't help it. And I'm not gonna haunt you anymore. I mean, it's not necessary since you've started seeing me anyway, but I thought I'd say that. For the record. I just didn't see another way to get you to notice me. I was lonely.”

And Harvey can imagine that. It's hard enough to navigate social interactions when you're part of the outside world, never mind an invisible ghost that can't leave these rooms and probably hasn't talked to another human being since he died.

It strikes Harvey just how lonely Mike must be. No wonder he was so desperate to talk to him.

He clears his throat. “Alright.” He watches Mike, then sighs. “I guess that leaves us at an impasse.”

“Guess it does.”

Rubbing his eyes, Harvey straightens. “Look, I'm still not entirely convinced any of this is actually happening, but I need sleep if I'm going to process this, so I'm going to bed. You... stay here, or do whatever it is you do at night when you're not bothering me.”

He turns to leave, then stops when something occurs to him. “Are you going to stay visible now that I've seen you?”

Mike seems to consider him carefully. “I can make myself invisible, if you prefer that.”

It's tempting, for a moment. To just tell him to stay out of sight so Harvey can ignore that this ever happened.

But he'd still know. And if he thinks about it, he'd rather see what his enforced roommate is up to. Ignorance isn't always bliss, especially when it comes to his privacy.

“No, stay visible. I'd rather know where you are,” Harvey decides, pretending not to notice the way Mike perks up at his words.

“Yes, sir,” he enunciates, grinning when Harvey rolls his eyes.

“I can't deal with his,” he mutters to himself, then heads for the bathroom.

“Hey, you're holding up great!” Mike calls after him. A moment later he adds, more quietly, “Night, Harvey.”

“Good night,” Harvey replies automatically.

He looks back to see if Mike is still there before he enters the bedroom. He's hovering just where he first found him, smiling when he catches him looking. Harvey doesn't find it in him not to smile back.

If his dreams contain a light voice and bright blue eyes he can almost see through, he supposes that's only natural.

* * *

The next morning Harvey has convinced himself that he must have dreamed the entire thing up. Mike is nowhere in sight when Harvey pads into the kitchen, scanning the room carefully. Still, he feels strangely unsettled.

He worries his lip, then opens the cupboard to get the coffee machine out.

Ironically, it's the fact that his coffee _doesn't_ disappear that convinces him that at least part of what transpired last night must have been real.

Well, so much for that.

Harvey sighs. “Mike?” he asks hesitantly into the room, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. He feels even worse when he turns around to come face to face with the man, his wide grin entirely too chipper for this time of the day.

“Morning.”

“Jesus, don't scare me like that. I know you're a ghost, but- don't do that.”

“Hey, _you_ called _me_.”

“I wanted to make sure I hadn't made you up. Apparently I haven't.”

“Nope. Still here. Can't leave, remember?”

“Unfortunately I do.” He eyes Mike, not sure what else to say to him, then walks past him (because through him would just be too weird) to grab his mug.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he remarks in passing.

Mike laughs quietly. “You're welcome.”

Harvey goes to work, his mind only half on the case as he ponders his situation at home. When he gets back early for once, Mike is still there, sitting on the sofa with his hands in his lap like he's been waiting for his return.

“Is that your default spot or something?”

Mike turns to him. “I'd say it's comfortable, but...”

He smiles a little, just watching as Harvey unpacks his bag and then goes to change. His eyes stay on him when he returns and sits down, and Harvey can tell he is bursting to say something. He gives him a pointed look, raising his eyebrows.

Mike presses his hands together. “How was your day?”

Okay. Not quite what he expected, but he'll take it. “It was fine. Good, actually. We settled a case that's been getting on my nerves for weeks, so that's a relief. The client finally decided that ten million were enough compensation for him after all.”

Mike nods, looking intrigued, but he doesn't ask more. Harvey hesitates. “And yours?”

“Oh, you know.”

Right.

He waits, but when nothing else is coming he shrugs and turns the TV on. They spend the rest of the night in silence.

It goes on like this. Apart from brief interactions, Mike keeps to himself, letting Harvey do his thing.

He usually stays on the sofa, sometimes watching a program on mute, except when Harvey is on the sofa, which is when he floats to a corner of the room to give him space.

If he's being honest, it drives Harvey insane.

Because it's almost like Mike isn't there, but he is. And Harvey can tell that Mike is brimming with things to ask him or talk about, but he doesn't say any of them, and it's strangely sweet of him, but while Harvey appreciates the gesture, he is almost overwhelmingly aware of Mike at all times and even though he definitely doesn't admit it, he is intrigued by him. Curious, he might say.

So on the third day he breaks his golden rule of not acknowledging the situation any more than he absolutely has to and says, “Oh, for god's sake. Just stop it.”

Mike startles. “Stop what?”

“Doing-” Harvey waves his hands- “that.”

Mike gives him a confused look. “What am I doing?”

“Nothing.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I'm not sure I follow.”

Harvey heaves a frustrated sigh. “You keep evading me and it's getting annoying, so I'm telling you to stop.”

If anything, Mike looks even more confused. “I thought you didn't like my being here.”

Harvey almost winces. It sounds so personal when he says it like that. It's not Mike himself he has a problem with. It's the supernatural aspect that's giving him a headache.

“Well, there's nothing I can do to change it, is there? As it is, we both live here. So you might as well stop acting like you're an intruder. You were here first, after all.”

“Okay,” Mike says, biting his lip. “If you're sure.”

Harvey just tilts his head. Mike follows the invitation happily, floating over to the sofa before... well, hovering above it. Harvey returns his eyes to the TV, pretending his focus doesn't lie on Mike right next to him.

So what if madness lies that way? Mike was obviously discontented, and Harvey was annoyed, and when he sees the smile on Mike's face from the corner of his eye, he can't quite bring himself to regret it.

He really seems to have fulfilled Mike's greatest wish by stopping their radio silence, because he stops floating around in the corners of the flat and starts sitting next to Harvey more often (if what he's doing can be called sitting).

Also, he talks. And boy, can that man talk.

Harvey was right in thinking that he held himself back before. It's like the floodgates have been opened now that he gave him permission to approach him.

What's interesting is that Mike doesn't just turn out to be witty and blessed with an engaging sense of humor (even though Harvey pretends he isn't), he also knows stuff. And it's not pseudo-knowledge either. He really, actually knows things Harvey has never heard about in his life. He includes bits and pieces of his knowledge in conversation like it's the most normal thing in the world, like it's no big deal at all, and Harvey is starting to believe that for him, it really isn't.

He has a feeling he is only stumbling on the edges of the mind Mike has hidden away in that pretty head of his.

“I can't believe you just gave me a lecture on the Suffragette movement in New Zealand,” he tells him one day, shaking his head.

Mike chuckles. “Well, everyone should know about that.”

It _was_ interesting, he'll give him that.

“Oh my god. What was that?”

Harvey looks up. “What was what?”

“You smiled.”

“I didn't.”

“Yes, you did. You were so totally smiling at me.” Mike beams at him, floating up and down. “That's the first time you did that. Don't tell me you're actually starting to like me!”

“I won't tell you anything of the like,” Harvey says, trying not to gaze at his happy expression too obviously.

Him, smiling. At the ghost living in his apartment. The ghost he's been making conversation with for the better part of a week now.

What a ludicrous idea.

* * *

Harvey is bent over a massive stack of files when Mike's voice sounds right next to his ear.

“That's not right,” he says, pointing at something Harvey scribbled on top of the page. “You forgot about Sarbanes-Oxley.”

Harvey throws him a look. “The statute of limitations renders Sarbanes-Oxley moot post-2007,” he says with a frown.

“Not if you can find actions to cover up the violations established in the Sixth Circuit May 2008.”

Harvey drops his pen.

“How did you know that? Is that another one of your ghost talents?”

“No, that's just me.” Mike tips his temple. “Eidetic memory. If I read something and understand it, I never forget it. I'm pretty good with numbers, too.”

Ah. So Harvey was right. He's not actually that surprised, though certainly more impressed than he lets on. He would have caught that mistake eventually, he's sure of that, but Mike just noticed it while reading over his shoulder and he's not even a lawyer.

“So you just happened to read a legal textbook some years ago and still know exactly what it said?”

“Well, yeah. But I didn't just happen to read it.” Mike shrugs. “I actually wanted to be a lawyer when I was younger.”

“So why weren't you?”

Mike's mouth tightens to a thin line. “A series of poor choices.”

“Like what?”

He sighs. “I had this friend. Trevor. We grew up together. He was like my brother after my parents died. But he seemed to attract trouble like a magnet, something I didn't realize until it was too late.”

Harvey is surprised by the sudden bitterness in Mike's voice. He opens his mouth to ask if there's more to the story, but then Mike shakes himself and continues, “I had a full scholarship at college, I was on my way to Harvard and everything. Long story short, Trevor convinced me to help him cheat on a test, we sold the answers to what happened to be the dean's daughter, and when I took the blame I got kicked out. So, no law school for me.”

“You took the blame even though that Trevor kid convinced you?” Harvey scrutinizes Mike closely. That kind of loyalty is hard to find. “He was lucky that he had you as his friend.”

Mike's mouth twists into a bitter smile that looks more like a grimace. “You have no idea,” he mutters. Then he shakes his head as if trying to banish the thoughts, shrugging a little. “Anyway. I've always loved the law, so I kept up with it even after all that. Some things you just don't let go of, right?”

“Right.”

Mike gives him a small smile, then leaves him to it, drifting to another corner of the flat, probably lost in thought about his past. Harvey goes back to his case, but to say that his mind isn't elsewhere the entire time would be a lie.

* * *

Of all the things Harvey thought he could get used to, talking to the ghostly presence inhabiting his home definitely wasn't one of them. And yet here he is, discussing last night's game with him over breakfast like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The thing is, Mike is actually fun to be around. He's not opposed to silence when Harvey needs it and makes for a really good conversational partner when he's in the mood to talk, especially after Harvey discovered their mutual love of the law. He thought Mike might not want to talk about it too much, considering what happened, but he seems ecstatic about bouncing ideas off each other, reading up on the latest developments in the legal world Harvey starts making available for him, and discussing cases. (Harvey thinks he's not exactly breaking attorney-client-privilege, since Mike isn't actually... well, alive? A human being? Anyway, he can't leave this flat and thus can't tell anyone about it.)

So yes, between the legal talk and their engaging banter about movies and random other topics, Harvey may have gotten used to Mike's presence. Mike didn't exactly make it hard on him. And it's... not unpleasant. Okay, it's actually nice. They discover that they have a lot in common, and when they don't, the following discussion is always engaging.

“I cannot believe you never had pizza with cheese in the crust,” followed by “I didn't, because I'm not a child,” is as common an exchange as, “I was so lonely as a kid. I used to imagine the ground opening and swallowing me up just so I could be with my parents again. It was terribly unfair to my Grammy, but I could barely handle my own pain. I couldn't deal with hers too,” and a grave nod, because sometimes silence says more than any platitudes.

Mike, Harvey learns, wears his heart on his sleeve, not caring the slightest bit about exposing himself. Maybe the isolation he has experienced since becoming a ghost has broken down any restrictions, leaving him desperate to get out what he's been holding inside for so long. Or maybe he's just always been that way, this intoxicating combination of a sharp mind and a bleeding heart.

It's so easy to talk to Mike. And gradually diving into deeper waters only seems natural.

Mike tells him more about Trevor, about the bond they developed as children that still held them together even when they'd better drifted apart, about the things they were up to and the stunts they pulled. He tells him about his first heartbreak, involving both Trevor and his girlfriend Jenny and a bit of pain on both sides.

Harvey tells him about Scottie in return. He talks about Marcus and his sickness, how the distance between them and the agonizing desire to protect him always seem to clash.

Mike tells Harvey about his grandmother, a deep sadness seeping into his voice as he talks about her, and Harvey listens quietly, the same way Mike does when he later tells him about his family. He doesn't go into detail, not much, but when he looks at Mike's understanding face, he thinks that he could. He might still.

What Harvey is beginning to realize about Mike is that it's entirely too easy to tell him things. Harvey finds himself able to open up to him in ways he can't seem to with other people.

Talking about his emotions never came easy to him, but he finds that venting to Mike when he gets home after a frustrating day, telling him about his worries the night before a big case, or just mentioning something that bothers him isn't hard at all. Maybe the surreal air their interactions have plays into it. He figures that if Mike already sees the most private parts of him, he might as well tell him the rest too.

It's not just that, though. There's just something about Mike that makes Harvey put his trust in him.

“You know, I'm really glad you started talking to me,” Mike says one night, glancing at Harvey from the corner of his eye.

“It wasn't the worst decision I've ever made for sure,” Harvey replies, grinning when Mike snorts and sends a pillow in the direction of his head, knowing exactly what he means without him having to say it.

He finds it's not a bad feeling at all.

* * *

“So when do I get to meet the lucky girl? Or boy?”

Harvey looks up, blinking at Donna in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“The person you met. I know there's someone, so don't bother denying it.”

Harvey sits back. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, let's see.” She holds up a finger. “First, you constantly rush home. You think you're being subtle, but I can tell you're in a hurry so don't even try to pretend you're not. Second, you're a lot more relaxed than you've been the past few weeks. Third, I just caught you smiling at nothing and it's not the first time either, so...”

“Why does there have to be someone? Why can't I just be happy?”

“Please.” She scoffs. “You don't do happy.”

“It's just a friend,” Harvey says.

“A friend. Right.” She shakes her head, turning to leave his office. “You keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

Summer turns into autumn quietly, the temperature steadily dropping until the leaves are swept from the trees by the howling wind that makes it impossible to keep the windows open or head outside without a thick layer of protection from the biting cold.

It is then that Harvey discovers that the heating doesn't work.

“What the fuck,” he mutters, joggling the switch before bellowing, “Mike!”

“What is it?” Mike asks, popping up right beside him. Harvey has long learned not to jump at these sudden appearances anymore.

“Are you responsible for this?”

“Nope.” Mike eyes the heating curiously. “At least I don't think so. I'm not consciously interfering, if that's what you mean.”

Harvey sighs, giving up as he gets to his feet. “Right, I guess I'll have to make a call again. Only the third time since I moved in here.” He heads for the sofa, wrapping a blanket around himself before he sits down with a shiver. “I really hope this isn't some sort of side effect of your... ghostliness.”

“That would be pretty cool,” Mike remarks, looking mildly impressed with himself.

“Pretty cold, yeah,” Harvey corrects. “For me. It's not like you can feel any of it.” He glances at Mike. “At least you can be here without having to fear for your body parts.”

“Well, yeah, but I'm not _really_ here, all things considered, so... that's kind of a moot point.”

“What do you mean?” Harvey raises his eyebrows. “Are you telling me after all this time that I've been hallucinating you after all?”

“No, I mean, my spirit is here, but my body is somewhere else.” Mike rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Huh.” Harvey regards him closely, hesitating before speaking his next words. “I didn't think you still had a body.”

Mike snorts. “Of course I do. Why wouldn't I? Did you think I was like, dead?”

“Well, you _are_ a ghost,” Harvey defends himself. “I don't exactly have a lot of experience with the supernatural. I just assumed that you must be dead.” Narrowing his eyes, he amends, “Well. Your body must be dead.”

“Yeah, I'm actually a spirit though, so.”

Mike watches him process that new piece of information with moderate amusement.

“You honestly thought I was dead?”

“How would I know you aren't?” Harvey shoots back.

“I mean, don't you think I would have mentioned that at some point? Why didn't you just ask?”

“I didn't want to be insensitive? I thought that if you'd died, it was probably a sore spot for you. And anyway, you never mentioned that you _aren't_ dead, or why you're here at all for that matter, so don't put this on me.”

“Well, it does make me a little sad to talk about it.” Mike heaves a sigh. “It's been such a long time since I inhabited my body. I don't even really remember what it was like. I exist now only in the subliminal spaces.”

Harvey swallows. “How long has it been?”

It never occurred to him to ask before, but he realizes now that this young man with the boyish face could very well be his elder by years, if not decades.

Mike shrugs. “Three years, give or take.”

“Seriously? I thought you were gonna say a decade or something. Jesus, Mike. Three years?”

“Hey, you spend three years inside this place with no entertainment other than your own regrets, then we can talk, dude.”

Harvey tries not to wince at the guilt piercing him at that. He keeps forgetting that while he can go out and be part of the world, Mike isn't so lucky. There is nowhere else he can go, no one apart from him he can even talk to all day.

Mike must have been so lonely before he met Harvey. He probably still is, even though Harvey hopes that he can make it at least somewhat easier on him.

Trying to shake off the gloomy thoughts he asks, “So what happened to you? How did you end up like... this?”

Mike sighs, and it's not entirely surprising when he says, “Trevor.”

That fucking kid. Harvey should have known. He is swamped by an irrational wave of anger at the man he has never met and yet would love to smack sometime.

“What did he do?”

“He got involved in some stuff. You know, like dark magic. Discovered it somewhere on the internet. We thought it was funny at first. We didn't believe in it. Well, at least I didn't. But he got more and more invested. Started buying herbs and shit, always reading up on spells and rituals and whatnot. I knew he was looking up meetings on the internet, talking to like-minded people. I tried to talk him out of it, but he didn't listen.” Mike sighs. “I was worried about him. Halloween was coming up and I knew he would try something, so that night I waited for him to go out and then followed him here. He met up with this other guy who must have had a key to this place. They didn't even bother locking the door.”

Mike shakes his head. “Trevor had brought some supplies, and they put them on the floor and lit candles and stuff before chanting some spells, I guess, and- I don't really remember how it happened, and believe me, I've had a lot of time to think about it, but at one point reality just seemed to shift.”

At Harvey's expression he shrugs, saying, “I can't really describe it any other way. It felt a little like someone was pulling the ground out from under my feet. Suddenly there was a blinding light and this overwhelming feeling of trepidation, and then I saw her.” He lets out a slow breath. “It was a woman, or at least some being that looked like a woman. They called her a witch. I guess they'd summoned her, I don't know what for, but things went very, very wrong from there.”

Harvey swallows. He's starting to see where this is going. To live through something like that... It startles him how deeply he is touched by Mike's tale. How much he feels for him. When did that happen? When did he start caring so much?

“Trevor and that other guy started welcoming her, and then they chanted something else in an attempt to control her, but it clearly wasn't working. I saw it in their eyes, the moment they realized they'd fucked up, but they still kept on trying, until the witch stopped them.”

“How did she do that?”

“She must have been a very powerful being,” Mike explains, huffing. “That's just like Trevor, going for the big fish. She just had to move her hand, and neither of them made a sound anymore. The other guy just bolted. The witch let him go, but Trevor... he wasn't so lucky. I don't know if it was something she did or if he was just frozen in place, but- he just stood there, you know? Like he couldn't move a muscle. And then the witch started whispering something. I couldn't even understand her. There was this weird light all around her, rising from the ground, and when I realized that she was going to put whatever she'd summoned on Trevor- I didn't think, I just acted. I knew that it was a curse, that it would do something terrible to him.”

Mike runs a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired beyond his years. “I knew it was a bad idea going in there, but I couldn't just leave Trevor alone. He was my friend.”

 _This is a bad idea._ Harvey suddenly remembers, the voice he now knows to be Mike's that said those exact words to him through the water. Were they the last words Mike said in his human form?

“You stepped in front of him.”

“Well, I pushed him out of the way, but yes.” Mike frowns. “It was... painful beyond anything I've ever experienced. And then it was just nothing.” He's quiet for a moment. “I think it would have killed him. Since the curse wasn't meant for me, it only did this,” he says, waving towards his translucent form. “I can neither go forth nor back. I'm stuck like this. I can't live, but I can't die either.”

“Caught between heaven and hell,” Harvey murmurs. Mike's eyes flicker to his.

“Yeah, kind of. Though it hasn't been so bad lately,” he adds in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Harvey leans back, shaking his head. “That's one hell of a story.”

“I know.” Mike chuckles. “You should have seen it.”

They both fall silent, each hanging after their thoughts.

“So, that body of yours.” Harvey clears his throat. “Where is it?”

He feels like a total idiot for even posing such a question, but then again, he's been talking to the ghost – no, _spirit_ – floating around his apartment for weeks. His ideas of normal have shifted considerably. It's just a word now.

“Mount Sinai Hospital. They shifted me from ICU a while ago. I even have a room to myself now. Not that it's any use to me.”

“How do you know, if you can't leave this apartment?”

“I just know. Same way I knew when my Grammy died. It's a feeling that kind of transcends physical distance in this plane. I can't really describe it.”

Harvey narrows his eyes. “When something happens to your body, when a nurse washes you or something, can you feel it?”

Mike looks at him. “Yeah.”

How strange a sensation that must be. To be entirely cut off from any access to your physical form, but still feel what happens to it.

“Hey,” Mike then asks, changing the topic, “now that we've discussed my tragic past, can we watch a movie or something?”

Harvey just nods, keeping any thoughts running through his head to himself.

“Sure,” he agrees. “You pick something.”

* * *

He doesn't tell Mike where he's going the next time he has a day off, but he suspects that he knows anyway.

Harvey has never shared most people's aversion to hospitals, but a strange graveness takes hold of him as he approaches the nurse's desk. “Excuse me, I'm looking for the room of Mike Ross?”

She checks the computer, then gets up. “I'm headed in the same direction, just come with me.”

Harvey nods, following her through the halls.

“I haven't seen you here before,” she says, casting him a glance.

“I've been out of town,” Harvey lies smoothly. “We're old friends. I came as soon as I heard.”

That last part is not technically untrue, and she seems satisfied with his answer.

“There he is,” she announces, stopping in front of a door. “Poor thing, never gets any visitors. His only remaining family died not long after he was admitted.”

“I've heard,” Harvey murmurs absently. He thanks her, waiting until she's out of sight before he braces himself to go in.

The room is small, barely holding enough space for the bed and two chairs. The blinds are open, letting in the sunlight no one but the nurses is going to see.

And there is Mike. Still and pale, looking like a doll rather than a person, but there is a slight rise and fall of his chest that Harvey watches as if transfixed. The monitor that's attached to him beeps steadily, quietly, but it catches Harvey's attention all the same.

The vital signs are weak, but they are there. He is definitely, undeniably real. Alive.

“Holy shit,” Harvey whispers, sinking onto one of the chairs. “I'm not crazy.”

He knew, of course. As incredible as his story is, deep down he knew that he couldn't have made Mike up if he'd tried. He stopped any attempts to rationalize his existence long ago, just accepting it instead.

Mike doesn't move at all, of course he doesn't, and for a long time Harvey mirrors him, just looking and taking him in until he has grown somewhat accustomed to the sight of him.

He gets up from the chair, stepping to Mike's side instead. He hesitates, then sinks onto the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth Mike's body is giving off through the blanket where their hips are touching. A slow breath escapes him.

Following his instinct, Harvey reaches for Mike's hand, lying pale and stiff on the sheets. His skin is warm, and Harvey closes his hands around it, squeezing lightly.

A sense of utter rightness washes through him at finally being able to touch Mike. He shuts out the small voice of despair that reminds him how this connection can only ever be one-sided, focusing only on Mike for the time being.

He only touches his hands, because anything else would be creepy, but he takes his time to feel the shape of them, just hold them in his, not daring to speak a word, not knowing if Mike could somehow hear him too, and that would just be embarrassing.

He stays for over an hour, getting acquainted with the feeling of Mike's skin beneath his and the way he looks when he isn't translucent. It's strange in a twisted sort of way, a way that leaves Harvey unable to tear his eyes from him for a long time. When he leaves, it's with the silent promise to come back soon, if not for Mike, then definitely for himself.

Mike is already waiting for him when he gets back.

“You went to see me today.”

Harvey takes off his jacket before turning to him, raising an eyebrow. “Had to make sure you were real, didn't I?”

Mike chuckles. Then his eyes flicker to Harvey's. “I felt you. Touching me.” He pauses. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Harvey swallows. “I'm glad,” he says, and their eyes meet before both of them look away.

It occurs to him only then how touch-starved Mike must be. Three years of isolation are already behind him, and an endless amount's still ahead. Even with Harvey there now, their connection is purely mental, impossible to take to a physical level. Mike's grandmother died not long after the curse, and since there is no one else, the only touches he felt must have been the clinical routine of the nurses washing or repositioning him, devoid of any affection or warmth.

Harvey's touches may have been the first gentleness Mike has experienced in years.

He swallows again, fighting against the sudden tightness of his throat. He glances at Mike then, his eyes still averted, and he just knows, knows in every part of his being, that he is going to do whatever he can to ease Mike's tragedy.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his eyebrows when Mike looks up, “I seem to remember considerable holes in your knowledge about Star Trek. You up for a marathon?”

Mike's face lights up. “Aye, Captain,” he agrees in his best imitation of Scotty's accent, which is, admittedly, not half bad.

“Come on then,” Harvey says, biting back a smile, “we're starting at the beginning.”

* * *

“That curse,” Harvey says the next day, taking his eyes from the TV to glance at Mike, “how do you break it?”

“You don't,” Mike replies simply.

“Bullshit. A curse is like a contract, right? There's a way out of any contract.”

“Yeah, there is, but the loophole to this particular one isn't something either of us can do anything about.”

“Why? What does it take?”

“Trevor,” Mike says simply. Harvey lifts his eyebrows and he elaborates, “He'd have to take my place voluntarily. He'd have to die by the witch's hand so that I could live again.” He shrugs. “Apart from the fact that I don't know where he is and I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to be found, if he's even still alive, I don't think he'd ever do that. Who would?”

 _A friend,_ Harvey thinks. _A real friend. Someone who loves you. Someone who has the guts to take responsibility for their actions._

“Anyway,” Mike continues, “there's nothing I can do. I've made my peace with it.” He glances at him. “Why? Are you that eager to get rid of me?”

“If I were, I'd have moved out weeks ago. But as you can see, I'm still here.”

Their eyes catch on each other. Mike doesn't look away. Neither does Harvey.

“Good,” Mike says.

“Yeah,” Harvey agrees.

They turn back to the TV, watching the news in silence.

* * *

After only a small bit of consideration, Harvey puts Vanessa on the case.

He knew there was no way around it, of course. No way in hell he would let Mike rot in this not-quite-life for all eternity.

It still costs him some overcoming, though.

Because Mike has become an integral part of his life, and Harvey finds himself unable to imagine spending his days without him anymore. They have a connection he has never experienced with anyone else, having fallen into a rhythm of living together easily, and he knows that he isn't the only one enjoying the company.

But Mike isn't there by choice. And all that means nothing if he can't make the decision to be with Harvey freely. How could Harvey do anything but give him that freedom back?

So Harvey puts Vanessa on the case and tries not to dwell on how all of this is inevitably going to end soon.

He's still got time, he tells himself. He doesn't have to say goodbye to Mike just yet. But he has to let him go eventually. It's the only right thing to do.

Vanessa, of course, isn't his PI for nothing. She's the best there is. She hands him the information he requested sooner than he actually wants, and he thanks her and buys her a drink and doesn't think about the envelope all night until she leaves him alone.

Harvey orders another drink for himself, turning the envelope over and over in his hands before he finally makes his decision.

No way out but through.

He drains his glass, wincing at the bitter taste of the alcohol. Then he opens the envelope and starts reading.

* * *

Trevor, when Harvey finds him in a stinking bolt-hole, is a shell of a man.

Harvey walks past the empty bottles and plastic bags with quick, measured steps, trying to ignore the smell of piss festering in the air as he scans the hall in search of him. There are other people there, but judging by the looks they throw him, they will stay out of his way.

He stops in front of the man he vaguely recognizes from the pictures Vanessa gave him, for a moment just looking.

“Trevor Evans.”

His eyes shoot up. Harvey nearly grimaces at the sight of his face up close, the outgrown hair, the unkempt beard, leaving nothing but a faint impression of the charismatic young man he used to be.

It's almost sad.

“Who the fuck are you? How did you find me?”

Trevor looks haunted as he speaks, and that, perhaps, is the most striking change in his appearance. It's the look in his eyes telling Harvey that he hasn't slept through the night in years, that he's constantly on the lookout, running from something there is nowhere to hide from.

“You don't need to concern yourself with that.”

Trevor opens his mouth to protest, but Harvey cuts him off before he can get a word out.

“Mike Ross,” he says. Trevor's eyes shoot up, the color draining from his face. “You remember who that is, don't you?”

He nods mutely, clutching his knees to his chest.

“You know what happened to him?”

Another nod, barely visible.

Harvey grits his teeth, the anger he thought he could hold back welling up in him. “You never went to look for him, did you? You never looked back. Your friend took that curse for you, and you left him to rot.”

“I called an ambulance,” Trevor whispers, almost to himself. He's rocking back and forth ever so slightly, his fingers digging into his dirty trousers. “I called an ambulance for his body. I couldn't stay. I couldn't. I had to hide.”

“You can't live your entire life in hiding.”

“It's what I've done the past few years,” Trevor says tonelessly, staring straight ahead.

“You call this a life?”

Trevor looks away and doesn't answer. Harvey's anger subsides as he regards him, giving way to something close to pity. This is the shadow of a man, hiding in the city's underbelly to get by day by day without being able to escape the web he has woven around himself.

It doesn't matter that he got away all those years ago. His life was over the day Mike took the curse for him, and they both know it.

“Here's what's going to happen,” Harvey says. “You're going to make things right. You're going to take his place, and you're going to get him out of this hell.”

Trevor's eyes fill with tears. For a moment he seems to breathe desperation, his body curling in on itself as he clutches his legs tightly.

“I can't,” he whispers, but Harvey can tell that his resistance is paper-thin, ready to be ripped to shreds at the slightest blow.

“You're going to,” he tells him.

Trevor looks up. A muscle twitches in his jaw. Finally, he nods. “Okay,” he says quietly, barely audible over Harvey's quiet breath of relief. “Okay.”

* * *

It is the pinnacle of irony, Harvey thinks, that this is happening on Halloween of all nights.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” he mutters to himself as he drives down the empty highway to the forest Trevor named, barely seeing where he is going through the thick, ominous fog. “I can't believe I'm really doing this.” But the thing is, he can, because at this point he has to admit that there isn't really much he wouldn't do for Mike, and if that includes heading into some deserted forest in the dark to summon an evil witch, then that's what he's going to do.

On goddamn Halloween.

He shakes his head. It's like something straight out of a trashy horror movie, only that this isn't a movie, it's real. This is Mike's life they are gambling with.

“It has to be that night,” Trevor said when Harvey asked why they had to wait until Halloween, “it's when the borders to the other world are lowest. It has to be. I can't contact her otherwise. I'm not strong enough.”

Harvey wanted to make a biting comment about that last part, but in the end just nodded, the situation too serious to risk it by offending the man Mike's future depends on. “Halloween, then,” he agreed.

Apparently there is something to all the stories around that night after all.

He didn't tell Mike where he was going before he left the apartment, feeling a strange sense of finality as he glanced at him one last time.

If things went right, Mike would be free the next time he saw him. If they didn't, he'd have blown Mike's one chance at a regular life. Harvey's not sure he could live with that.

He slows down the car when he recognizes the exit Trevor described. He follows the dark path until it becomes too narrow for the car, then gets out and walks the rest of the way.

“Why do we need to drive to some forest in the middle of nowhere?” he demanded to know when Trevor told him the plan. “You managed just fine in an apartment right here in the city last time.”

“There were two of us then,” Trevor explained, hunched over the map Harvey had brought to mark the spot. “And I'm weaker than I used to be. I need nature around me to summon her.”

He seemed to have to force himself to even mention the witch. Harvey is equally curious and apprehensive about the mysterious being. If everything goes right, he will see her for himself tonight.

The branches underneath his shoes break as he makes his way through the forest, the cracks unnaturally loud in the silence of the night. A raven caws somewhere. Harvey shivers, pulling his coat tighter around himself.

He finds the meadow Trevor described eventually, barely illuminated by the moonlight falling through the trees. He scans the place, narrowing his eyes when he spots a figure crouching on the ground. He recognizes Trevor when he gets closer. He must have heard his steps, but doesn't look up.

“You're here,” Harvey says in lieu of a greeting. He half expected to drive all the way out here only to have Trevor not showing up.

Trevor glances at him then. “I may be a coward, but I'm still Mike's friend.”

Harvey could dispute the fact, but he just nods. He isn't going to argue with whatever makes Trevor go through with this.

“Can I do anything?”

Trevor shakes his head, and so Harvey stays where he is, watching him work in silence.

He brought candles, several herbs and things Harvey couldn't even begin to name, spreading them around himself in a circle before arranging them into shapes that must make some sort of sense to him. His hand lingers on the final bulb he puts down. He heaves himself up, standing at the edge of his work with a barely audible sigh.

Harvey pushes himself up from the tree he was leaning against. “Are you ready?”

Trevor exhales deeply. “Fuck, man. I'm laying myself out here, okay? Give me a moment.”

Harvey is quiet. “You brought this upon yourself,” he says eventually. Trevor sighs, and he sounds ancient. His shoulders slump before he nods, almost to himself, and steps into the circle he created, finding his place in the middle.

“Stay back,” he tells Harvey. And then he begins whispering, chanting to himself as he repeats the words over and over. Harvey tries to listen, to understand what he's saying, but he can't even make out what language he's speaking.

Trevor goes on for a long time, so long that Harvey almost becomes impatient. His eyes are squeezed shut as he forces the words out until his shoulders relax and he seems to slip into a trance, the words controlling him now rather than the other way around. His low murmuring becomes almost hypnotic, and then Harvey startles, feeling himself lose balance as the ground stutters beneath his feet without warning.

 _Reality just seemed to shift,_ he remembers Mike saying. Now he knows what he was talking about.

He hears Trevor letting out a choked sound somewhere but he can't see what's happening because suddenly there is a blinding light, overwhelmingly bright, burning behind his eyelids even as he looks away. His heart pounds in his chest. There's a deafening rumble somewhere and for a moment Harvey thinks he can't breathe, must be choking, and he clutches his chest as he tries to fight the trepidation taking hold of him, and then-

Then he sees her. She must be who Trevor was talking about, the being Mike described as something close to a woman, and now he understands the deep respect they both seemed to have.

It hurts to look at her.

It hurts, because this is more than a human mind can grasp. Harvey sees her, but he couldn't describe her any more than if his eyes were shut.

She is unreal, inhumane and blinding in her intensity, and yet he is unable to take his eyes from her. He stares at her, frozen in place while Trevor, only a few steps before him, sucks in a deep breath. Like it's his last one.

“I've come,” Trevor says, clearing his throat before he starts again, “I've come to take Mike's place. I want to take the curse and set him free. I'm ready.”

Harvey's heart is racing, and he holds his breath to not miss a moment of what is happening. The witch just looks at Trevor, her eyes strangely burning and intense, like she's seeing straight through him, like he is nothing but thin air.

The light seemed to rise from the ground, Mike said, but this time it comes from all around them. It's like the words she is whispering are becoming visible in the night, a strange mix of light and mist, moving and swirling around them until Harvey has to shut his eyes against the dizziness. This is too much, he thinks. No human being should ever see something like this.

He opens his eyes again when the meadow falls silent, like every movement has momentarily come to a halt. The witch is still there, surrounded by light, a hand stretched out in waiting. Trevor is turned away from her. He is looking at him.

“Please,” Trevor says, and for a moment Harvey can see a shadow of the man Mike must have known and loved all those years ago, “tell him. Tell Mike I'm sorry. I never meant for him to get hurt.”

Harvey nods. “I'll tell him,” he promises, his voice hoarse. Their eyes catch for a long, endless moment. And then a shock goes through Trevor's body, making him convulse before he stiffens, hitting the ground with horrifying finality.

Harvey gasps despite himself, staring at his motionless body. He never saw anyone die before, and even though this death was necessary so that Mike could live, his stomach clenches.

 _Too much,_ he thinks. _Too much._

And then the witch turns to look directly at Harvey, rendering him motionless in place. He forgets any thoughts about Trevor as he stares at her, feeling like he is gazing into the abyss of eternity.

“Go to him,” she says, and her voice is not unkind. Harvey thinks that for all the stories he heard about her, everything he has seen her do, she is not evil. She is just powerful, she is power personified, but she is not an instrument of bad. She just is. The humans who presume to be able to use her power are what gives her intent. They bring her wrath and ruin upon themselves. But Harvey hasn't presumed anything. Harvey has done her no wrong. And so she's just telling him–

_Go to him._

He instinctively understands that it's Mike she's talking about, not Trevor, and he forces himself to nod, looking at her face unwaveringly. For a moment he thinks she's smiling. “He'll be back soon. Go.”

And Harvey turns around and goes, walking as fast as his feet will carry him. He doesn't look back, doesn't spare a single thought for Trevor. There is nothing he can do for him.

All he can think about, his elevated breathing leaving white puffs in the air, is Mike.

* * *

It's early morning when the hospital finally appears in sight. The sun is not yet rising, but the night is coming to a close, slowly subsiding. Harvey can feel it.

He rushes past the nurses in the middle of their shift change, immensely grateful that no one stops him to ask what he's doing here at this time of the day. He probably looks like he's here because of an emergency and he is glad for the convenient excuse, hiding behind it as he hurries down the halls to the room he has become so familiar with.

Mike is still unconscious when Harvey arrives, finally allowing his breathing to calm down when he steps into the room. He tries not to be disappointed, reminding himself of the words the witch had said. _He'll be back soon._

He stops a nurse bustling down the hall to ask about any changes, and when he tells him that Mike's vital signs have been steadily improving for the past few hours, Harvey lets out a slow breath.

“Sir, are you alright?” the nurse then asks, regarding him with a frown.

Harvey looks down, for the first time realizing how dirty he is. His clothes are stained and sticky with mud, wet and stinking of smoke.

“How long until he wakes up?” he asks.

“Hard to tell. At least a few more hours. _If_ he wakes up.”

Harvey just nods, though he knows better. When the nurse is gone he throws one last look at Mike, squeezing his hand in a promise to be back, before he retreats to take a shower.

When he gets home, Mike is not there. It's probably a good sign, but the flat feels hollow and deserted without his presence.

Harvey only packs a few things before leaving in a hurry. He can't get back to the hospital soon enough.

* * *

Harvey sits at Mike's side for almost a day before he finally wakes up, allowing himself no more than a few minutes of fitful sleep in his chair at a time.

It starts slowly, the signs so imperceptible at first that Harvey would have missed them if he weren't watching Mike like a hawk. At first he thinks he might be imagining it, the aftermath of all the adrenaline leaving his body and the lack of sleep taking its toll on him. But it's there. A twitch of his finger. A shift in his expression. A minute frown.

It takes time, so much so that Harvey grows restless in his seat, but gradually the life seems to return to Mike's body. His movements grow stronger, more deliberate. He looks less like a wax figure and more like he's just sleeping, ready to open his eyes at any moment.

Harvey sighs in relief, his fingers drumming against his knee as he waits for the moment Mike finally wakes up. He gets up to open a window, keeping a cup of water ready like the nurse advised him to, before he goes back to waiting, counting the minutes for lack of anything else to do.

When Mike eventually opens his eyes and Harvey is met with the sight of them for the first time, startlingly blue and that much more intense than the translucent version he has known so far, for a moment he can do nothing but stare.

God, he's a sight to behold. Striking and human and most importantly real, and Harvey has to hold his breath and stop himself from reaching out to touch him.

Mike doesn't seem to notice him, probably still working through the daze in his mind. He is blinking at the ceiling, bleary and disoriented.

Harvey clears his throat.

“Hey,” he says softly, surprised by the roughness of his voice. Mike's eyes snap to him. Harvey gives him a small smile, a little amused by Mike staring at him like he just announced the eighth world wonder.

Ironically, it's probably not far from the way he looked at Mike the first time he saw him.

“I would ask how you're feeling, but I think the answer to that is pretty much a given.”

Mike is still staring, just taking him in, and Harvey is struck by the sudden worry that he doesn't know what happened.

“You're in the hospital,” he tells him, not knowing what else to say. Where to even start, if Mike really doesn't remember. “I don't know if you're aware of what happened, but you're alright now.”

Mike shakes his head a little like he's been ripped from a trance, scrambling to push himself up. He tries to say something, wincing when only a choked sound comes out. He accepts the water Harvey hands him gratefully, taking a few small sips before lowering the cup, his chest heaving.

Harvey gently takes it from his hands, asking, “Alright?”

Mike nods, clearing his throat as he looks at him. When he tries to speak again the words are hoarse, but Harvey understands them perfectly.

“You're real. I thought I might have dreamed you up.”

Harvey's stomach flutters. Relief floods him, along with the exhilarating sensation Mike's words evoked. He remembers. He remembers Harvey. He's happy to see him. Aiming to appear composed he says, “Rest assured that everything you remember from the past three years actually happened. I don't know why or how any of this is possible and I don't think I'll ever understand it, but the important thing is that it was real and that it's over now.”

Mike's throat bobs as he swallows. “It's really over?” he asks tentatively, like he half expects this to be a dream he'll have to wake up from sooner or later. Harvey can't blame him for that.

“It's really over,” he tells him, on impulse covering Mike's hand with his to give it a reassuring squeeze. Mike looks at their hands, a slow smile spreading on his face.

“Wow,” he whispers. Then he frowns, his expression growing more serious. “Trevor?”

“He's dead,” Harvey says. And then he adds, “I'm sorry,” not because he's sad about Trevor, but because he understands that this is still a loss for Mike.

Mike nods slowly.

“He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry. He never meant for you to get hurt.”

Mike blinks at him. He averts his eyes, licking his lips as he grasps the blanket covering him.

“I closed that door a long time ago,” he says, his voice still scratchy, but stronger now. “I didn't think I'd ever hear from him again. I didn't think I'd ever be...”

He looks down his body, staring at his hands in awe. Harvey smiles. “That was before you met me,” he tells him gently.

Mike looks back up. “How did you manage to bring me back? How did you even know where to find Trevor, let alone how to convince him to- die?”

Harvey leans back in his seat, his eyes drifting across the room as he thinks back to everything that happened these last few days.

“It's a long story, really.”

Mike looks around, his lips curving into a smile that, despite his obvious exhaustion, screams of life. “Well, looks like I've got nothing but time.”

“Alright,” Harvey agrees, finding himself smiling in return. “Alright, I'll tell you. After we call a nurse to get you examined.”

* * *

Apart from the three years of inactivity having taken their toll on his body, Mike is perfectly fine. The tests come back negative, the doctors scratch their heads about the mysterious cause of Mike's coma, and Mike and Harvey just exchange a glance, smiling to themselves as they say nothing.

The doctors insist on keeping Mike there for the time being until he has regained at least some of his strength, and when Harvey sees the weakened state of his body as he tries to get up or dress himself, he's inclined to agree.

Mike sighs but does as they say, mentioning how he doesn't know where to go or what else to do anyway. His rehabilitation is a long and exhausting process, but Mike's got time, and Harvey is there every step of the way.

As it turns out, they still get along splendidly when they're not being forced to cohabit.

Harvey has to go back to work come Monday, facing the surreal experience of going on with his life like nothing happened, like he didn't see something shaking his entire belief of the world to the core, but he makes it a point to cut back and spend every minute he can spare at Mike's side, often sneaking in before visiting hours or coming back later at night when everyone else has left. Sometimes the nurses see, but most of them just smile and look right through him, pretending they didn't notice him. Almost, Harvey thinks, like a ghost.

Mike is coping well with being human again, though he complains to Harvey about the loss of his telepathic abilities once. The look a nurse gives them when she overhears the conversation sends them both into a laughing fit that has Mike clutching his stomach, and Harvey almost feels bad that he's in pain, except it's so good to see Mike smile. Sometimes he is so lost in thought that Harvey thinks he can never reach him, but he supposes that's only fair. But often he's laughing, too, almost carefree as the last three years of isolation seem forgotten for the moment, and Harvey thinks that as long as he still knows how to do that, he's going to be alright.

Harvey tries to make him laugh as often as possible, delighted every time he manages. They make fun of everything, the clients Harvey has to deal with, the strict nurse that tried to keep Harvey from bringing Mike certain DVDs because they might be 'disturbing', the hospital food - _especially_ the hospital food.

Mike complains but endures it bravely, probably glad that he can eat again at all. Harvey only tried his dinner once before dropping the spoon and getting up, returning half an hour later with a takeaway meal. If he weren't already determined to provide Mike with some real food, the look he gave him as he handed him the bag would have done it.

He smuggles food into the hospital almost daily now, having taken to bringing himself something too. Sometimes they eat and talk, and sometimes they watch TV, which often ends with Mike falling asleep and Harvey cleaning up before leaving quietly, forcing himself not to stay and watch Mike sleep like a creep. Harvey barely sees the inside of his apartment anymore, but he has to admit that without Mike in it, it doesn't hold that much appeal anyway.

Mike thanks him for being there all the time once, but Harvey just waves him off, telling him that anything else is unthinkable. And it's true. If they won't be together at home anymore, at least Harvey can still have Mike like this. And who knows, with the looks Mike is giving him...

But that is a topic for another day, when Mike is back to his old strength and out of this goddamn hospital. He's regaining his strength fairly quickly, still benefiting from the advantages of being young, but it takes time to rebuild his muscles and get back what three years of inactivity stole from him.

“I'm making good progress,” Mike tells him when Harvey asks what the doctors said, shrugging. “It doesn't really feel like it, but they said I'll be out of here soon, so I'll take it.”

Harvey finds himself agreeing with the doctors once again. Sure, if he were in Mike's place he'd be impatient too – a lot more so than Mike, probably – but looking at him as an outsider, it's clear as day that he's better. And not just because Harvey can't see through him anymore.

The color returns to his cheeks gradually, making him look livelier every day. He works hard in physical therapy and has successes to show for it, starting with getting up and walking around without help and only going on from there. His frame seems to fill out over time, probably thanks to Harvey's not that subtle attempts to fatten him up a little after catching a glimpse of his ribs during an examination. Good thing the man's so fond of pizza. Harvey even lets himself be coaxed into getting cheese in the crust, which turns out not to be so bad after all.

When the doctors finally let him go and Mike is released after six weeks of rehabilitation, Harvey doesn't even think about offering to let him stay at his place. Indefinitely, as far as he's concerned, but one thing at a time.

“You sure?” Mike asks hesitantly, and the look Harvey gives him makes him smile. “Alright, yeah. Thanks. I'd like that.”

The corner of Harvey's mouth lifts. The way he said it, along with the look he's giving him through his lashes, makes him think that he didn't just agree because he has nowhere else to go. It's a very good feeling.

Mike stands in the middle of the apartment for a long time when they get there, his eyes scanning his surroundings. It only then occurs to Harvey that bringing Mike back to the place he was confined to for years may not have been the smartest idea he's ever had.

“Is this okay?” Harvey asks. Mike glances at him, and Harvey heaves a sigh of relief when he smiles.

“It's different now,” he says, tilting his head. “It feels different, being here. It's weird, but I don't mind.”

“Good.” Harvey clears his throat. “We don't have to stay here forever anyway,” he adds. He finally admitted to himself that even though he was against it at first, with Mike's presence gone, there is nothing really holding him here anymore. His savings for a condo are coming along nicely, and sooner rather than later he's going to leave this now empty place behind and start over somewhere the absence of a ghost doesn't haunt him.

He only realizes that he said _we_ when Mike's smile grows. “Sure,” he agrees, grinning at him. “Whatever you want, I'm down for it.”

Harvey feels his cheeks flushing. _Smooth,_ he tells himself. “Come on,” he says, trying to cover up his reaction, “you already know the room, but let me show you where everything is anyway.”

Mike settles in surprisingly fast, unpacking the few of his belongings quickly. Harvey doesn't know what happened to his things from before, but Mike doesn't seem to miss them, and he thinks that after three years of being caught between life and death, maybe all the clutter of a normal life loses its meaning.

He doesn't bring up the topic of their living arrangement again until they are on the sofa a few nights in and while he's thoroughly enjoying Mike's presence and the prickly sensation in his stomach the close proximity elicits, he can't help but ask himself where this is headed. How long it's going to last. _If_ it's going to last.

“Do you have any plans?” Mike turns to him with a questioning look and Harvey clarifies, “For what you want to do now, I mean.”

Mike blinks at him, then looks down. “Kind of. I mean, I thought about it, I just didn't really get anywhere with it. I have no job, no apartment, and I kind of need one to get the other, so...”

“Hey,” Harvey says, waiting until he's looking at him before he tells him, “I'm not asking to get you to leave or anything. Obviously you can stay as long as you want-” _forever,_ his mind helpfully supplies- “but you're free now. You don't have to stay here. You're free to go wherever you want. Do whatever you please.”

Mike watches him, his eyes flickering over his face, and his voice is full of determination when he says, “I don't want to go.” Before Harvey can give the hesitant hope fluttering in his stomach any thought he adds, “In fact, I actually really want to stay and do this.”

And with that he leans in to press his lips to Harvey's, once again managing to catch him by surprise in the way he is so good at. Harvey is frozen only for a second before he returns the gentle pressure, parting his lips as he cups Mike's face to pull him closer. Mike sighs, if in relief or pleasure Harvey doesn't know, but he immediately decides that it's a very good sound that he'd like to hear him make again, right now, preferably.

Mike's lips are warm and pliant against him, and while it's obviously been a while since he kissed anyone, Harvey thinks that he's holding up remarkably well. Some things you just don't unlearn. And he makes up for the slight clumsiness with abundant enthusiasm. Harvey hums as he licks over the seam of his lips, finally getting to know the taste he has been imagining so many times. Mike groans. His hands find their way to Harvey's chest, pushing him against the back of the couch as he moves to swing a leg over him.

Harvey welcomes him in his lap happily, chasing the touch of his lips when Mike draws back until he notices that he's more out of breath than their brief kissing session warrants. He blinks his eyes open as he pulls back, giving him a concerned look.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” Mike gives a small laugh, shaking his head. “I'm fine, I'm just a little...” He moves to kiss him again, then winces. “Ouch. Okay. Looks like I'm not entirely back to my old strength just yet.”

He lets out a deep breath, giving Harvey a frustrated look before leaning in to place a final kiss on his lips and then reluctantly slide back down to the sofa. Harvey regards him from the side, taking his hand as he watches his breathing calm down.

“It's okay. We can take it slow. We have all the time in the world.”

Mike sighs. “No,” he then corrects, a grin spreading on his face, “only a lifetime.”

Harvey eyes him. “You're entirely too chipper about the prospect of dying.”

“Well, you'd be too if you'd been stuck between life and death for three years. But believe me, I don't want to die for a long time yet. I only got this life back, after all.”

“Damn right,” Harvey agrees. He glances at him, then smirks. “So you want this, huh?”

Mike gives him a look. “I thought that was fairly obvious. I did call you hot before we even started talking.”

“True,” Harvey acknowledges. “But you were a ghost then. That kind of complicated things.”

“Well, good thing I'm not one now.”

Harvey leans in to kiss him, teasing him with the gentleness of his touch until Mike groans in frustration. “You're going to kill me. You'll just torture me until I'm well enough for sex, won't you?”

“Well, there's something to be said about a good incentive,” Harvey tells him with an innocent smile. He brushes his thumb over Mike's cheek, then draws back. “So now that we got that out of the way, I think it's time I did something I should have done a long time ago.”

“Oh?” Mike smiles. “And what's that?”

“Come on,” Harvey says, clasping their hands together tightly, “let me make you some strong, hot coffee.”

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who was like "hey, why don't I write a 15k Halloween fic" three weeks before Halloween.
> 
> English isn't my native language, any mistakes are my own. Got any questions, thoughts, concrit, or just want to tell me something? Leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you :)


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